


Proud.

by floatawaysomedays



Series: Before My Morning Coffee [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: POV Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 02:01:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatawaysomedays/pseuds/floatawaysomedays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a series of S9 timestamps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proud.

Sam catches glimpses of it, sometimes.

He walks in on hushed laughter, and wide smiles a lot. He files it away when Dean adjusts the collar of Castiel’s jacket. When Cas makes two cups of coffee, and shuffles down the hall with a smirk on his face, and Dean’s shirt turned inside out. 

Sam’s calculations all add up to the same thing. He’s watching them fall in love, all over again. 

 

He finds Dean pressing Cas against the counter in the kitchen, once. The dirty plates from lunch are still on the table, and the sink obviously isn’t going to fill itself. Dean’s hands on Castiel’s waist, foreheads touching. They’re not even doing anything, just standing there. Cas is rubbing his nose against Dean’s, eskimo kisses, and Dean is  _beaming_  at him. Shaking his head at the silly gesture.

It’s almost more intimate than walking in on them having sex, and Sam usually backtracks as quietly as he can. Let’s them be. 

But tonight Dean is sitting on the couch with Cas’s head pillowed on his thigh. He’s running his fingers through his hair leisurely, an arm extended along the back of the couch. The TV is on, but it’s turned down low, and Dean isn’t watching it. He’s staring at Cas and his face might be a little wet. Sam can’t really see that well, but he would bet a few bucks on it from the way Dean’s breath is barely hitching every now and then. 

He just looks so  _happy_ , Sam feels like could break down right there. Yell and shout that  _it’s about fucking time._  Clap Dean on the back, tell him how ecstatic he is for both of them. 

How insanely  _proud_  he is.

This time he leans against the doorway in the glow of the local news, and tries to coax his heart from where it’s lodged in his throat. 


End file.
